Author

Brian Moylan

After getting his master's degree in poetry, Senior Writer Brian Moylan started writing about television and pop culture for Gawker, The Guardian, The Washington Blade and a few other reputable publications. Brian has an honorary PhD in “Jersey Shore” studies from the University of Chicago. He's shared his often hilarious views about the tube on VH1, MSNBC, TV Guide Channel, MTV (Canada), BBC radio, and NPR. He can usually be found at his apartment in New York yelling at the TV and dodging calls from Real Housewives. He is a Taurus and likes long walks on the beach, fried chicken, and almost every reality television program ever created (especially “The Swan”).

Today was Robin Roberts' last day on Good Morning America, currently the highest-rated morning show on television, before taking a leave of absence to get a bone marrow transplant from her sister to treat Myelodysplastic Syndrome, a rare blood disorder. Those are some mighty big shoes to fill, so who can the show get to step in? Well, people with some very big shoes themselves.
GMA co-host Lara Spencer announced today that Oprah Winfrey, still the reigning queen of daytime even though her show has been off the air for a year, is among the list of prominent celebrities that will take over co-hosting duties while Roberts recovers. There are the obvious choices like Kelly Ripa, Katie Couric, and Barbara Walters, all familiar to hosting a morning show. Then there are the surprising choices like Chris Rock (it will be hilarious trying to watch him tone it down for a national audience before 9 AM), Rob Lowe (nice and charming and a little bit boring), and the cast of Modern Family (aside from the fact that Julie Bowen looks just like she stepped off anchoring duties on the Today show, these people don't seem remotely qualified).
It's sad that Robin had to go so that we could get such a great slate of substitute teachers, but I'll take Oprah any way we can get her. I mean, it's not like anyone is watching her on cable.
Follow Brian Moylan on Twitter @BrianJMoylan
[Photo Credit: Wenn.com]
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There are plenty of villains on TV, people who want to do awful things to good people, but there are only so many bitches. What separates the two? The bitchface, of course. Yes, it is the silent glare that is a combination of disdain, aggression, and malevolent intent that only the most accomplished actors can summon up on cue. Delivered effectively, it can decimate any opponent and show the audience that this person is not only mean, but vicious.
Right now the most accomplished bitch face belongs to the Botox-hardened mask of Revenge's Victoria Grayson. Madeleine Stowe doesn't need to say a word to telegraph what is going on in that rich lady's mind, and it is never good (well, it's always good, it's just never nice). Sure, we usually associate this with women, but there are a few men on the list, too. That is called equality, people. And when it comes to being a total jerk, that is something both sexes can accomplish.
Click here to launch our gallery of TV's Best Bitchfaces! Follow Brian Moylan on Twitter @BrianJMoylan [Photo Credit: ABC] More: These Are TV's Most Horrible Moms The Craziest, Longest, Silliest Movie Titles: The Revenge Laugh Your Clothes Off: Funniest Stripping Scenes of All Time

Everyone on the nightly news, the Internet, and, most importantly, your Twitter and Facebook accounts is talking about the Republican National Convention in Tampa. And after that, the Democrats do their dog and donkey show in Charlotte and the media takeover will start anew. It's all that's happening right now — but, still, it is boring. There, I said it. It's boring. It's worse than a lecture on oral hygiene that you had to sit through in fifth grade. Dull dull dull dull dull. And, even worse, we're going to have to relive some of these moments ad nauseum... and they won't get any more exciting.
Let's consider political conventions for a minute. They last for several days, create huge news, are full of thousands of rabid fans, and are relentlessly covered by the media, despite the fact that only a select portion of the population caring about them deeply. Looking at that description, it seems political conventions have their own entertainment-fueled cousin: Comic-Con! Both of these conventions share notable similarities with the one difference being that I care about one and not the other. So, what can the political conventions learn from Comic-Con to jazz things up a little? We're here to help, politics.
More Costumes: During the first few days of Comic-Con, entertainment websites across the Internet launch galleries of the crazy cos play people in their extremely elaborate Slave Princess Leia and Batman get-ups. Those fans definitely garner attention, so why not dress up a little bit, delegates? (And I'm not talking dress shirts and pantsuits.) May we suggest that each delegate wear a costume based on where they're from? A farmer costume from Kansas, cowboy duds from Texas, a prep school uniform from Connecticut. (Just like Drop Dead Gorgeous!) Or maybe they should dress up like their favorite characters: George Washington, Betsy Ross, or every GOPers favorite, Ronald Reagan. C'mon, the tea party has embraced this — why can't every other party follow (bat)suit?
Celebrities: Yes, famous commentators from Rush Limbaugh to Rachel Maddow will be attending the conventions, as will the politically outspoken Clooneys and the Kelsey Grammers. Arnold Schwarzenegger used to get invited too and then blew it all with a scandal. ("I'll be back," apparently also applies to his attending future Republican conventions.) But let's get some other ones there just to glitz up the show. Just random ones. Oh look, there is Megan Fox talking policy with Dick Cheney. Can you believe that Tom Cruise and Jennifer Lopez are posing for pictures with Michelle Obama? Who knew that Ashton Kutcher is as tall as Mitt Romney? See how much fun that was, and it was fake!
Question and Answer Period: The one thing that separates Comic-Con panels from the conventions is that, when it comes to the former, the fans get the opportunity to converse with the big names. Fans get to grill writers, directors, producers, and actors about just how they're going to handle their favorite fictional properties. Why shouldn't the delegates be allowed the chance to ask Mitt Romney and Barack Obama some questions? Won't that add some spontaneity? These are going to be very hospitable audiences. If there was a time for the "town hall" format to flourish, this is it.
More Exciting Footage: At Comic-Con this year, fans were rewarded with footage of the new Hobbit movie. That's awesome. What are we going to get at the convention this year? A skit of Donald Trump telling Barack Obama, "You're fired." Snoozeville. If you're going to make some clips, at least make them as inventive and exciting as the shows at the Con.
Booth Babes: You know how on the floor of the convention there are all those little signs announcing each state? Why can't those be held up by girls or guys in skimpy outfits? Seriously, let's finally give back, candidates.
Endless Swag: The best part about Comic-Con? Free stuff! Attendees can pick up figurines, posters, autographs, and, of course, comic books for no charge. What do you get at the political conventions? A "Barack Obama Hope" pin? A foam Mitt Romney #1 Mitten with a finger pointing in the air? An American flag lapel pins? Sorry, conventions: We would prefer more creative swag like "Cabinet Trading Cards" or "Speaker of the House Masks."
Make Your Promises Come True: When producers announce they're prepping a remake at Comic-Con, fans will see said remake in theaters. When a director announces the star of a picture, said actor actually stars in the movie. When we see early footage from a TV show, said footage eventually ends up in the pilot. When we get promises of change, new programs, or promised bipartisanship at a political convention, it never really happens. Sure, release dates can change, but the movie eventually comes out. Maybe if we thought that the things we heard at this big shindig would actually come true, we'd be a little bit more invested in the outcome.
Follow Brian Moylan on Twitter @BrianJMoylan
[Photo Credit: AP Photo]
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What is it about a Housewife on vacation? It's like you get them outside of their native land, the savannah on which they film this glorious nature show for all of us, and they just lose their damn minds. It's like pulling a big fish out of a small pond and then putting it on the wharf and they just fitz and flail all about, coating the wood with their slimy scales. It's inexplicable the things they do when they get away. I guess that's what we all do. That is what everyone is doing this last week of August when there is nothing to do in the office and everyone shuffles off to the beach. "Oh, I'll just eat this third donut. Who cares? I'm on vacation!" "I'm not going to bother showering which means that I won't shave. Whatever. I'm on vacation. Screw you." "Holy crap, I drank three bottles of wine last night, did two tequila shots, and made out with some boy who I don't remember. I freaking hate vacation."
Yes, the Real Mardi Gras Beads of Show Us Your Tits University are on vacation which means they are all going to go absolutely bats**t insane. Carole is taking them to St. Bart's, ostensibly to meet her boyfriend and go to some blues festival that they will never make it to because Ramona is too drunk, LuAnn will want to go hang around with her "Italian friends" instead, and Sonja says she didn't pack anything blue so she has nothing to wear. They are just there to get in fights, cause drama, and otherwise behave like they they are a bunch of lab rats who were given a very virulent strain of psilocybin.
So, the gaggle flies down to St. Barts in a V formation like they're going south for the winter and they all land at this very beautiful villa. It is completely isolated, which is perfect because at any moment this vacation could turn into a slasher movie and there would be no one there to help any of these ladies from some crazed killer wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a mask made out of a boar's head. Who would be the one to survive until the end of the movie? I hope it's Carole. Or Sonja. The rest, well, sorry to see you go, but these things happen in slasher movies. "In St. Barts, no one can hear you scream."
Actually, it's a gorgeous house with multiple pools, a giant deck, a huge open floor plan that spills out into the surrounding mountains covered in green trees rising up from soil that is so, so fertile (unlike LuAnn and her withered up fallopian tubes). It's really a gorgeous house, but something about it is tugging at Carole's neurons, like a finger nail picking at a scab. She has been there before. Has she been there before? She swears she has. While taking a tour of the grounds (Carole and Heather are in the "pool house" away from the other ladies because they're not dummies) she tells the Realtor that she's been to St. Bart's before with her late husband and his mother Lee (Radziwill, who is Jackie O's sister, in case you didn't know this about Princess Carole, the most discrete royal in the land). Yes, the Realtor says, the house was much different back then. It was simpler and the owners liked to keep it that way, just a modest house in paradise with a maintenance shed. But now, it's all this.
Oh, Carole, this is your life. This is what you traded in. That Christmas she came downstairs in the little house and found Lee sitting up bolt straight (she has the most perfect posture) and totally coiffed in a casual outfit. She wrapped her robe around herself and said good morning and poured some coffee and she and Lee just sat there on the porch staring out at the jungle and all the rustles and rumbles that emanated from it, somehow both threatening and comforting at the same time. Eventually Anthony would come down and the conversation would pick up, but it would never go above a civilized rumble as they chatted and laughed and exchanged presents. Lee bought her a scarf, a beautiful light cashmere black scarf that she still wears sometimes with her leather jacket. Anthony bought her a first edition of Elizabeth Bishop's Geography III, her favorite book of poetry. She's never opened it, ever, and it sits under the night stand in her bedroom on the top of the pile so she can look at it every day.
Now, here she is, that house torn down and a new house built on top of it. A large and vulgar house informed by a standard ideal of luxury. It's so nice, it is almost devoid of character, like so many hotel lobbies smooshed together near the forest canopy. And the beasts have crawled out of the jungles and are living in the house now, howling, cavorting, and mating under her very roof. It's almost like Carole took a trip to the zoo and decided to move in and every day that old house, that fading phantasm that is lodged in her skull and feels like a knot whenever Ramona and Sonja get really really drunk, dims further and further.
Because, of course, that is what these two do, Ramona and Sonja. Ramona, of course, loves this house. She loves everything about it, the big closet, the fancy shower, the noodles in the pool, the staff she can abuse. But her favorite, the one feature of the house she wants for her home, is the wine dispenser. This is like when they got the soda fountain at Burger King and they decided it was time to trust the public with operating it themselves. You would just get a cup and go absolutely crazy, taking as much or as little soda as you wanted. You could mix Orange Slice and Mountain Dew if you really wanted (and were under the age of 12, becuase only someone would think that brackish sweetness worth ingesting). It is just like that but with wine. There are like 20 different bottles of wine and you can just "squirt" it out right into your glass. The butler (who Sonja is trying to buttle, because he is hot and bald) teaches Ramona how to use it. Somehow I feel like this is showing a lab monkey how the reward box works. You press a lever the treat comes out. You press a lever the treat comes out. This Ramona at the wine machine.
Everyone sits down for dinner and Somonja is already drunk (that is the symbiotic creature known as Sonja and Ramona and, when they have been drinking, they combine like a bleach blond Voltron and attack everything that is near them) and sitting at the table and Jean-Baptiste, their chef is cooking them dinner. "Know what I want to eat for dinner?" Sonja asks. "Jean-Baptiste. Hey, JB, baby, come to momma. Bring over that butler, because I'm going to show you my servant's quarters." She then kneels in her chair and bends over the back, smacking her rump repeatedly while giggling up a storm. Everyone else laughs too, but after dinner, she'll walk right up to Jean-Baptiste and put her arm around him, saying too loudly in his ear, her wine-stained breath dragging across his stubble, "I wasn't kidding earlier. You can go in my hind quarters if you like. I love it back there. Whatever you want to do. I'm all yours. You know where I'm sleeping. Just let yourself in and surprise me." She swatted his ass and waddled away.
But before we can get to that Sonja and Heather have to have another round of silly fighting about the toaster oven photo shoot. I don't even know what the fight is about anymore. Just let it die. Just let this fight turn into a bunch of ashes and just fly away on the wind to never come back. Heather, you're not going to win. Just throw your hands up and walk away. Go over to the wine dispenser and squirt, squirt, squirt yourself some consolation. That's what you need to do.
Carole, because she is a wise woman still dancing with the ghosts that inhabit this house, lures Ramona away from the table and drags LuAnn with her. "Just let them fight," she says. She figures they can just scream themselves hoarse and once their voices sound like sandpaper on a toilet bowl the three of them can amble back and just start their own conversation about something normal and rational. As they're away from dinner, Carole tells Ramona that she's nervous about Russ, her Aerosmith boyfriend, meeting the girls, mostly because they are all Insane Hellcats in Heat (which is the name of the first movie I ever watched on Skinemax). Let us ponder this exchange she has with Ramona:
Carole: Just don't say anything crazy.
Ramona: What would I say that's crazy? I'll just be me.
Carole: No, don't be you.
That, right there is the problem. Ramona is a screech monkey who doesn't know the sound of her own voice causes eardrums to rupture and parts of the brain to swell and expand in a way that often causes headaches and can cause death at certain altitudes. There is nothing Carole can do. Ramona is just crazy and that is it. She can not mitigate her, but she doesn't want to accept her either. Russ is like the old house, funky and familiar, like a down comforter you can curl into for the entire winter. Ramona is the new house, a plaster palace with shiny lights that will blink so fast it will give you a seizure.
OK, now we have to talk about the Countess boinking Johnny Depp.
Next:

Ladies and gentlemen, you only have one week left. Yes, you only have one week before Labor Day, which means the end of summer and the start of the deluge of new fall programming that is going to demand your attention like two little kittens dancing around a linoleum floor playing with a ball of yarn (so cute!). But since there is nothing on TV this week except for the Republican National Convention (boring) and reruns of Jeopardy (boring but educational), now is the perfect time to binge watch one of the shows you've been meaning to catch up on all summer.
So, how do you get through a season of Homeland, two seasons of Downton Abbey, or the entire back catalog of Arrested Development without losing all of your friends and the circulation in your hind quarters? Binge watching is a fine art, and here are some tips we learned over the years.
Load Up: There are plenty of ways to binge watch a TV show: DVD, Netflix streaming, Hulu Plus, iTunes downloads, on demand, or just saving it on your DVR and waiting for the right moment. But, no matter how you choose to watch the show, make sure you have every available episode of the series at your fingertips. The best part of binge watching is you don't have to wait six months (or more!) in between seasons to find out what happens with all those cliffhangers. That is, if you were smart enough to plan ahead and get that next batch of episodes all queued up. Because once you find out that Don Draper is getting a divorce, you're going to need to see what happens immediately and you'll feel like a jerk the whole three days it takes for Amazon to mail you the next box set.
Gather Supplies: Here are things you will need while settling into your couch for the foreseeable future: water, snacks, wine, delivery menus, a computer (to IMDb random actors), a phone, a blanket, slippers, adult diapers (you never know), utensils, candy corn (really, it's the best), the cat (or dog), and your favorite caffeinated beverage. Maybe a pillow. Maybe.
Adjust Your Schedule: You know how long each episode is and what else is going on in your life, so make sure you rearrange events so that you will have time for complete episodes. Send the kids to bed 20 minutes early so you can get to the series finale of Friday Night Lights. Leave work before 6 PM so you can get in at least three episodes of The Wire. Leave the pooch at doggie day care all night so that you don't have to get up in the middle of Breaking Bad to address his selfish needs. The show must come first!
Be Strict: While you're trying to cram as much programming into a tight schedule as you can, don't deviate from the agenda. If you say, "I'm watching this until 11, and then I'm going to bed," then be sure you go to bed. Don't say, "Oh, just one more," because you will keep "one more"-ing yourself until it is 3 AM and you are still up and you may have to call in sick the next day. Then when you update your Facebook status with the Final Five Cylons, your boss is going to know what is up and you will lose your job because you had to find out just how Battlestar Galactica ended. That's not cool.
No Cancelling Plans: Your real life friends who talk to you are more important than the fake friends you are watching on the tube. Sorry, your best friend Madison's birthday will not wait. The next season of Deadwood can.
Find a Friend: Since you're watching the show after everyone else, it shouldn't be hard to find a friend who wrote her doctoral thesis on Buffy the Vampire Slayer or who has been posting GIFs of Community before it was even cool. Be sure to know who has watched the show and who hasn't so you can call them up and talk about your favorite episodes all over again. But be careful about spoilers. You don't want to ruin the good time of anyone who doesn't already know who shot J.R..
Shower: Seriously, no show is good enough to justify body odor.
Follow Brian Moylan on Twitter @BrianJMoylan
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Salt Lake City's famous NBC affiliate KSL is at it again. Last year they banned The Playboy Club for being too titillating for its viewers (really, it should have been banned for being a smudge on the good reputation of the Playboy Bunny). Now the station has banned The New Normal, Ryan Murphy's new sitcom about a gay couple, the woman they hire to carry their surrogate baby, Ellen Barkin as her conservative grandmother, and NeNe Leakes as...well, NeNe Leakes.
"From time to time we may struggle with content that crosses the line in one area or another," Jeff Simpson, CEO of Bonneville International (which owns KSL) told the Salt Lake Tribune. "The dialogue might be excessively rude and crude. The scenes may be too explicit or the characterizations might seem offensive... For our brand, this program feels inappropriate on several dimensions, especially during family viewing time." You know, he might be on to something here. Why should we stop at denying viewers the choice whether or not to tune into a show when we should just get rid of it altogether? That would make this a much better country! Here are 10 other shows that should be barred from the airwaves. Sure, we might have a little bit less fun, but it's what we need for this great nation of ours to survive, especially during family viewing time. Animal Practice: I'm sorry, but evolution is only a theory. It is crazy to think that people came from monkeys, but to think that a monkey could be a doctor? Well, that's sacrilege and should not be tolerated. House Hunters: Remember when the mortgage crisis nearly collapsed the economy? Well, maybe there wouldn't be so many new home owners if this show didn't make it seem like so much fun. And it's filmed in Canada where they have universal health care. Socialists. Once Upon a Time: Do all those fairy tale characters have their green cards? Why are they working here and taking American jobs? That is just not fair. The Big Bang Theory: This show is fine, but it really needs a name change. What are the creationists going to think? Dancing with the Stars: Have you seen what those women wear? I have handkerchiefs that are bigger than their skirts. And then men touch them! Oh! Pretty Little Liars: Lying is bad for you. So is texting. And ghosts. The Mob Doctor: Glorifying gang violence! Not on my watch. Raising Hope: Serial killers should not be encouraged to have such cute babies. Also, continuously forcing Cloris Leachman to work is elder abuse. The Good Wife: Divorce shouldn't be nearly as glamorous as Alicia Florrick makes it seem. And what is this about her going back to work? What, isn't being a mom enough? Teen Mom: Duh. Follow Brian Moylan on Twitter @BrianJMoylan [Photo Credit: Trae Patton/NBC] More: First Look: Ryan Murphy's Sitcom 'The New Normal' Ryan Murphy's 'The New Normal' Protested by One Million Moms

Have you ever written something really long like a term paper or a business proposal or a reality television program recap and you forget to save it and your computer goes on the fritz and you lose the whole thing and have to start over again from the beginning? That always sucks. Writing it the second time is never as good or as interesting as the first time. That's what I felt when we started the most recent episode of Big Brother, which rehashed the fast-forward episode and the HoH competition, nominations, veto, and voting. We already know what happened! It just couldn't be as good. Boy, was I wrong!
First we have Frank cussing out everyone because they just kicked out his man lover Boogie. He's going after Ian, asking how Boogie didn't buy his loyalty with the $3,000 he gave Ian when he won a coachs' competition. If you remember, Frank, the only reason Ian even got the money was because you told Boogie to give it to Ian and that other girl on your team, so it's not like Boogie even wanted to give it to Ian in the first place.
Then Ian goes and wins HoH. He says he was trying to throw it so he wouldn't have to make any decisions and make Frank mad at him by kicking him out. Then he's all frazzled and taking everyone in to the ball machine room one at a time. He's all serious with Britney and Dan. "Shane and Joe or Frank and Ashley?" he shouts, knowing that the way to get Frank out is to backdoor him, not to give him a chance to play Veto. Britney doesn't think that is wise. Then he takes Frank in the room and they have an intense confrontation. Then the same with Shane and Danielle. Then it's Ashley turn. "Congratulations," she says. "I don't really have anything to say." God, I love Ashley. Why did they have to kick this girl out? Couldn't they just keep her around to not play the game and say stupid things and keep us all amused?
Then Frank wins Veto and takes himself off the block and Ashley's portrait goes grey (which is the one shade that this professional spray tan technician has never actually been). Ian is pissed at Britney for making him put up Frank instead of backdooring him. And he should be, since that probably would have been a smarter move. To Britney's credit, she tries to make it better when a rampaging Frank tells Ian that he's a bad person for voting out blond bombshells Boogs and Ashley. She's about to shed tears for poor Ian while he's roaming around the house like a junkie looking for a $20 bill that he dreamed was somewhere in his house but doesn't actually exist. That's the funny thing is that Ian does feel like a bad person. He says he's going to hell for getting people voted out. Um, sorry, Ian, but did you think you were going to go on this show and Julie Chen was going to say, "The twist this year is that you all get to live in the house all summer and no one is voted out. You're all going to heaven!"
Frank doesn't waste a second and pulls Shane and Danielle into a room to talk strategy. This was the best scene all night, because it was something out of an existential French drama. There's Frank talking about how life isn't fair. Shane doesn't know what to think because Britney isn't there to tell him. He's just an empty cypher trying to figure life out while not fully engaging in it. Then there's Danielle, who is crying for no apparent reason whatsoever. She's just stricken by grief, the great emotional weight of taking breath after breath after breath and trying to make it through the day. Then there's Britney, who is saying not to be mean to the common man (Ian) because he can't handle it and doesn't know what he did. If Sartre ever stooped so low as to imagine what reality television would be like, this is exactly it.
Frank is trying to scare people into thinking about what is going to happen if he wins HoH, which he is going to because the producers love him so much that they have saved him from the block multiple times in order to continue to make the season more exciting. Frank tells Shane that he'll be up on the block if Shane and Britney don't make a deal with him. Britney goes to Frank alone (because Shane, at this point, is only good for winning challenges and then carrying out Britney's orders like her prematurely balding pool boy) and makes a deal that she will help him get Dan out of the house and work with him as far as she can.
Two things. First, Frank is unnaturally obsessed with getting Dan out of the house. Sure, he's gunning for Frank, but so is everyone in the house right now. He's too blind to see who the real danger is. It's not Dan, who won't ever win an HoH. It's not Ian, who got rid of Boogie. It's not Danielle, who spends all her time applying mascara so she can cry and let it run down her cheeks. It's not pink tank top scion Shane, the competition king. It's not even diary room shouter Joe or that other thing whose name I can't really remember that is somehow still in the house. It is Britney. That is the other thing: Britney is running this game right now. Not only does she control Shane like a sock puppet, she also can sway the rest of the Quack Pack as easy as you can order pancakes at Denny's (which you can do 24 hours a day as long as you have a Denny's, $4.95, and no gluten allergy). Now she has a deal with Frank too. She is totally in charge of everything that is happening.
This makes me really happy because I am a huge Britney fan. "Slave 4 U" is one of my all time favorite jams. I also want Britney to win this game. The last time she played, she let another alliance take over the house without including her and they kicked her out when they didn't need her anymore. She's not making the same mistake twice, and she is running her entire alliance and Frank! This is the girl to watch out for.
Because the producers love Frank so much, they brought out their favorite "there's an outsider that we love" HoH challenge. Everyone uses an elaborate pulley machine to hoist a ball to the top and is ranked on their performance. Then the people who were the worst at the machine square off against each other and the victor takes on the person who did better than them until the last person remaining is the HoH. This challenge is rigged so that the person who comes in last ends up running the whole game. (If I remember correctly, this kept Daniele Donato in the game last time she played, but it might have been another player with no friends.) The people who are in the first round have to use this crazy machine so many times to get to the top that they get to practice each time and get better and better. It allows the underdog to come from behind and take the prize. Getting a low seat in this challenge is actually a strategic benefit. Korean Olypmic badminton players would rule at this challenge.
Yes, Frank wins and he's going to nominate Dan and Danielle. That makes sense if he really wants Dan out. Then he goes and opens Pandora's Box. Now, I'm not saying BB shouldn't have Pandora's Box, but I think they should stop pretending like the HoH isn't going to open it. That is like putting a bag of white powder in front of Lindsay Lohan and expecting it to be there when you get back. No, she'll be in the bathroom stall faster than you can say, Herbie the Love Bug 2: Fully Unloaded.
Frank opens it and wins some money and is locked inside Pandora's Box for an hour. Meanwhile the rest of the house guests find out that there's another veto in the ball machine in the arcade and they just need quarters to operate it. Then balls start falling from heaven (which is just what happens every night at a gay strip club) with quarters in them and everyone rushes to win the Veto. Dan is kind of a jerk about it and keeps trying to get people to let him win. They're annoyed, and so am I. Dan, you're not good when you're being a pain in the ass. Stick to your whole inspirational speeches and Successories posters schtick.
Eventually Ian wins the veto. Frank is threatening to put Ian up just so he has to use the veto on himself and not on someone else, which is probably the smartest thing Frank cold do at this point. However, Britney, who, like the Beyoncé song says, is running this mother, convinces Frank not to do that. She tells Ian that if he uses it on Dan, then she will go up. Britney's brilliant plan is for Frank to put up Dan and Danielle (which he eventually does) and for her or Shane to win the regular Power of Veto. Then if Ian takes down Dan and Shane takes down Danielle (because, honestly, Britney has the same chance of winning a competition as you do leaving Lindsay with your eight ball), then all four of them will be safe. Even if Frank puts up Britney, he'll also have to nominated either Joe or that other bag of hair that still fills up one of the beds in the house and that person will be the one to go home.
That's kind of a genius plan, and I really hope it works out. However, since it would subvert what Frank is planning, the producers will never allow it to happen. The Veto Competition on Wednesday is probably going to be a challenge where you have to rub balloons against your hair to get enough status electricity to shock Julie Chen into showing an emotion. Of course those with curly red mop on their head will have an advantage in that competition. Yes, Britney is working to win this whole thing, but Frank seems like he's a sure thing at this point.
Follow Brian Moylan on Twitter @BrianJMoylan
[Photo credit: CBS]
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Remember when titling a sequel was as easy as slapping a "2" after the title of the original movie? Karate Kid 2. Jaws 2. Superman II. Easy! Well, not anymore. Now everyone is keeping away from the "2" like it's the unpopular kid in school.
Instead, movies these days are opting to put a colon after the title of the original film, creating an insane long crazy title. The most recent offender is 2014's Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs sequel, which Sony announced this week would be called Cloudy 2: Revenge of the Leftovers. Oh god.
And sequels aren't the only ones. Titles grow long and longer, not only including whole sentences, but also entire lists of things. So here's our list of the most outrageous colon-fueled movie titles. Yes, of course Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo is included.
LAUNCH THE GALLERY
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Dear Joseph Gordon-Levitt:
I'm a little worried about your career. It seems these days that all the actors in Hollywood are willing to do something that you're not. I would hate to see you bow down to peer pressure, but I don't want you to start losing out on the plum roles because you're not willing to do it. After all, you're competing with the Channing Tatums of this world, and that guy seems like he has a biological imperative to show off his pecs to the world at every given opportunity. Yes, Joe, it's time to start taking your shirt off in movies.
Last night I saw your newest flick, the bike messengers in peril thriller Premium Rush, and I got a little rush when you got injured and diagnosed with bruised ribs. "Finally," I and every admirer of the male form in the theater thought, "They're going to have to cut his shirt off!" Yes, we wanted to glimpse those sweat-drenched muscles that had been straining the cotton of that too-tight tee for the past 60 minutes. But no. It didn't happen! Instead they put the bandages over the shirt. How ridiculous is that? It's like the pudgy kid who wears a shirt to go swimming at camp, which only draws even more attention to what lies beneath.
We should have known that you would disappoint us. You have been everywhere, Joey. Four movies just this year. You're like the new Jessica Chastain or Jude Law before he started sleeping with the nanny and everyone hated him. Every time we see a new trailer, you're somehow magically in it. But each time you deny us what we want the most. You remain fully clothed not only in this film, but in The Dark Knight Rises (is there no locker room in the Bat Cave?) and Looper (is nudity not allowed in the future?). Sure, cancer isn't very sexy so we understand about 50/50 and it must have been intimidating standing next to Tom Hardy's abs in Inception, so we get that. But you've had plenty of other chances that you haven't taken!
I know you've gone Half Monty before in little indies like Mysterious Skin (where those with a quick finger on the DVD remote can even pause on the frames where you show off your bum) and in Hesher but that's not nearly enough. I mean, in the Hesher scenes (picture above) you're not even at your fittest and we can't even adequately admire your body because we're distracted by the drawing on your chest and that awful quasi-mullet that you're rocking. That's like giving someone an ice cream cone with gravel sprinkled all over it. No one wants to eat that.
This is the post Magic Mike age where our male actors are as objectified as the female ones have been since the dawn of celluloid. It's practically a requirement that the A-list stars of super hero movies show us the bulging torsos under their spandex. A star's ability to sport a full set of abdominal muscles is as important as his attention to his "craft," because it is not "craft" that is landing him on the cover of Men's Health to publicize his latest project.
It's not a question of being taken seriously either. Matthew McConaughey hasn't worn a shirt since some time in the late '90s and he's hotter than ever (in terms both of career and physique). Daniel Radcliffe stayed in a Griffindor uniform during the Harry Potter movies but showed his wand and two magic spells on stage every night for months in Equus. Most people wouldn't even recognize Ryan Reynolds if he ever managed to some wrangle what is above his waist into some sort of cover up. Even Shia LaBeouf got naked in that music video, and no one even wanted to see that! But the best example is Ryan Gosling. Not only is he lauded as one of the best actors of his generation (and that's your generation too, mister), but he has ridden his sculpted lumps of man meat to the meme-tastic love of all of the Internet. He's almost more important to the web than kittens!
JGL, we want that for you too. We know that we're not going to see anything but your stovepipe hat in this fall's Lincoln, but what about your movie after that? Don Jon's Addiction has seXXXy written all over it. Is that going to be it? Are we finally going to get our payoff? It better be soon, mister, because there are Pattinsons and Efrons and Garfields and Pettyfers and Kitsches and Lautners just waiting in the wings and none of them are afraid to proudly point their man nipples at a camera and flash us a smile.
Joseph, it's time to go shirtless. We demand it.
Love,
The World
Follow Brian Moylan on Twitter @BrianJMoylan
[Photo credit: Wrekin Hill Entertainment]
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We live in a simulacra culture. Everything is fake, a fraud, a sham. There is absolutely nothing to believe in anymore. That was just reinforced last night when Lance Armstrong, a national hero who fought through cancer to repeatedly win the Tour de France, decided to stop fighting the doping charges against him. In the eyes of many (including the USADA), that is an admission of guilt. Stopping the fight against the allegations he took steroids is saying that his seemingly superhuman accomplishments were just that — that a real human could not possibly overachieve.
And that's the problem with any sort of accomplishment today. When anyone achieves anything of note, we can't believe it actually happened. We're a culture of skeptics, raised on cynicism and disappointment — even the man who inspired us to live strong is peered at with millions of side-eyes.
But our skepticism is understandable. This is the age of Photoshop, during which the bodies and faces of celebrities are morphed into something different, something unattainable. This is the age of AutoTune, where every single is so massaged with computers, we don't know if we're hearing Britney Spears or some robot interpreting her. This is the age of digital effects, when the images we see in movies are sculpted into magic. Nothing is real anymore. When we see an amazing photograph or scene in a movie, we aren't filled with wonder, but with curiosity as to which program digital engineers used to make it out of thin air. The very fabric of our reality is torn. When we see something that is supposedly documented in real life on a reality show, most times people don't believe that it happened. When everyone watches The Hills knowing it's a sham, how are we supposed to believe that even the crabs at the bottom of the Bering Sea are real on The Deadliest Catch? Just how does that show fake nature? (I like to think it doesn't, but you never know.) Even a show as beloved and mundane as House Huntershas been proven to be completely concocted for the cameras.
But our skepticism has bled beyond on-screen action. Not only do we believe celebrity relationships are a stunt for ratings or a pre-planned PR effort — hey, Taylor Swift does need more material for her songs — but we're becoming skeptical of nearly every star athlete in sports, an arena in which we esteemed people for their actual accomplishments, for their dedication, discipline, training, and God-given talent. The days in which we compared athletes like Michael Jordan to mythical gods are over — Mark McGwire and Jose Canseco made sure of that. (As did eventual tabloid reports that Jordan participated in illicit affairs.) And Lance Armstrong's scandal, which involves one of the most inspiring and beloved sports figure of the early 2000s, could prove to be the nail in that coffin. If the rampant steroid use doesn't destroy all the heroes in professional sports, than the increasted media attention certainly will. It's hard to stomach the prowess of Tiger Woods, Michael Vick, or Ben Roethlisbergerwhen you know that there is serial cheating, animal cruelty, or alleged rape off the field.
We simply can't believe anything we see anymore. Even when we find a hero (or think we do), we can't hold on to him (or her) for long. The only thing that's real anymore is our longing for something that is authentic – and that's because no one is giving it to us.
Follow Brian Moylan on Twitter @BrianJMoylan
[Photo credit: Wenn.com]
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